


And Thus the Native Hue of Resolution is Sicklied O'er

by Ghosting



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, No mpreg, Slash, Stockholm Syndrome, dubcon, noncon, or Catboy!John...haven't decided yet, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghosting/pseuds/Ghosting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started this Paramedic! AU an eternity ago for the kinkmeme and I'm afraid it's been gathering dust in my drive ever since. I've decided to revive it and hopefully finish it this time. That said, this massive beast is an AU where John became a Paramedic instead of an officer, and it's also got a bunch of my favorite things - John!Torture, Wingfic! or Catboy!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics (no mpreg), and whatever else my brain comes up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Thus the Native Hue of Resolution is Sicklied O'er

**Author's Note:**

> Little disclaimer, I'm not a paramedic and all of this stuff is sheer conjecture. Also, if anyone would like to Beta for me, shoot me a line! I hope you enjoy my story :).

John shook his head exasperatedly as Ross threw him a cocky smirk over one shoulder, hand rubbing soothingly down the young woman’s bare back as she sobbed into his navy blue paramedic uniform, mascara-tinted tears streaming over her spray tan in rivulets. He glanced back down and finished wrapping bruised and bloodied knuckles with pristine white gauze, securing the thin cotton with a silver clip before double checking the taped bandages adorning the Neanderthal-like features of his drunken patient. Satisfied that the intoxicated mass of muscle huddled in a miserable ball on the curb was as patched up as he was going to get, John rose to his feet with a groan, knees aching from pressing into the rough asphalt for so long. The young paramedic patted the beefy man on the shoulder briskly and stepped around the Gotham PD officers as they moved in to arrest the combative drunk for disorderly conduct and property damage.

 

“Come on, Ross, time to go!” John raised his voice to get his partner’s attention and was given a wave of acknowledgement, the other paramedic attempting to disentangle himself from the scantily clad ex-girlfriend of the beefcake in handcuffs. John couldn't stop a smirk from crossing his face, dimples flashing in his cheeks as he ignored his partner’s exaggerated gestures for help. He made his way to the passenger side of the ambulance, rifling his fingers through his first aid kit to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind (and using the opportunity to chuckle silently at Ross’s predicament). So focused was he on the contents of his kit that he failed to see the figure moving purposefully into his path until he ran face first into a rock-hard chest. John squawked in surprise and stumbled back a step, nearly dropping his paramedic kit in surprise.

 

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was go…” his voice trailed off as he looked up with an apologetic expression and promptly froze when he realized just who, exactly, he’d run into.

 

 

“Still getting in the way, eh, Blake? Maybe I should take you in for obstruction of justice, teach you how to behave around your betters. I can think of a thing or two that might leave a lasting impression,” Deputy Commissioner Foley smirked meanly at John, sharp blue eyes lingering on the younger man’s body with a covetous leer. John’s heart skipped a beat and he couldn't help but cringe slightly, panic stealing his breath for a long moment before he could rein in his fear. The brunet backed away from Foley and craned his neck to look over the taller man’s shoulder, muttering something noncommittal as he looked for Ross in the thick crowd of bystanders.

 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and thick fingers dug painfully into muscle, an insistent demand for the young man’s undivided attention. Eyes widening, John’s gaze snapped back to Foley, a mixture of anxiety and anger swirling in his gut. The paramedic opened his mouth to protest the manhandling but a warning growl from the larger man had his mouth snapping shut automatically. The Deputy Commissioner’s grin turned triumphant and he stepped in close, forcing the younger man to retreat until his back hit the side of the ambulance with a thud. Foley pressed their bodies together and slid his other hand up the length of John’s neck, squeezing harshly in warning when John opened his mouth again, dark eyes snapping with anger and fear. This was all far too similar to how it’d been back at the police academy; John felt like a fool for thinking he could be rid of Foley and the others just by dropping out. Foley kept his grip around John’s throat, secure in the knowledge that the shadows were concealing his actions, and shifted his hand from the smaller man’s shoulder down to his chest, enjoying the fear on those fine features. 

 

“Ah ah ah, little omega, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We don’t want to draw any attention over here, now do we? Be a good boy and I won’t let the men know your new address, the apartment over that Italian hag’s eatery, right? Some of them have been itching to look you up ever since you left the Academy, especially since you never said goodbye. That’s bad form, Blake. Didn’t your parents ever teach you good manners?” John reared back like he’d been slapped, face going ashen and gaze dropping to the ground as Foley's words cut deep.

 

He’d never been able to stop his emotions from showing on his face, raw and open, and Foley was watching his features with a savage, hungry satisfaction. The Deputy Commissioner slipped his other hand down from Blake’s neck and wrapped it around the young man’s waist, greedy and possessive. He wanted Blake back where he belonged, under his control and docile beneath his hands; letting him get away the first time was a mistake he wasn't going to repeat. He was going to claim the little omega before anyone else had the chance. John could feel his resolve crumbling beneath the instinctual urge to avert his eyes and bow his head in submission, and he cursed himself for forgetting to take his suppressants today. An all-too-familiar weakness stole over him slowly; a creeping lethargy that involuntarily relaxed his straining muscles, growing stronger the longer Foley touched him. John sagged back against the ambulance and shook his head dazedly but it did nothing to clear his mind, every sense boiling down to the heat of Foley’s hand as it slipped down to brazenly rest on his ass.

 

 

“Blake! Let’s go, man, I need some grub stat if I’m gonna make it through the next six hours!” Ross’s voice shattered the hold Foley had on John and he jerked violently, blinking rapidly and shaking his head as the older man reluctantly let him go and stepped back. John straightened up and ran his hands down his uniform to remove any wrinkles, dark brown eyes glaring angrily at Foley’s smug face with renewed strength. He mustered up his courage and bared his teeth at the Deputy Commissioner in a parody of a grin, running a hand through his wayward black curls in a vain attempt to disguise the shaking of his limbs as fear and adrenaline slowly leached out of his body.

 

 

“Touch me like that again, Foley, and I’ll report you to Commissioner Gordon. I may have been forced from the Academy because of all you bigoted assholes but he will still listen to me- after all, he was my mentor. I’ve let you push me around because I didn’t want to bother Gordon with your bullshit but if you lay hands on me again I won’t hesitate.” John could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he was certain Foley would hear it, would know that John’s show of strength was a thin cover for his bone-deep fear. He remembered all too well the way Foley had led the other men in the Academy-especially the ‘impartial’ instructors-when it came to terrorizing him, the way Foley would corner him in deserted areas with the worst of intentions and how close John had come to not being able to escape the older man. Foley was the reason he’d fled from his dream job and moved under the cover of night to a small apartment over a Mom & Pop pizzeria (for all the good that did, since apparently Foley knew where he lived anyway), the reason he avoided certain jurisdictions at certain times of the day, even if that meant going grocery shopping across town and risking spoiled goods in the hot Gotham sunlight. 

 

 

Foley glared at him as he backed away, a sneer curling his lips and a possessive light burning in his eyes before he finally turned around and headed for the gaggle of officers chatting beside the club's entrance, the throbbing lights and pounding music leaking from the open door a startling contrast to the quiet hush of Gotham's late night traffic. The ambient noise felt muffled to John, his heart pounding rapidly in his throat and his hands trembling visibly as he attempted to calm himself. He definitely did not want his observant partner to notice his distress and make some sort of connection to Foley and his failed attempt as a Gotham Police Officer; Ross was incredibly adept at connecting the dots, for all that he wasn't the most sensible person when it came to his personal life. The passenger door to the ambulance swung open and Ross peered out with an annoyed look on his face, hanging onto the handle and dangling halfway out of the vehicle like a monkey.

 

 

“Dude, John, come on! My stomach lining is deteriorating every second we’re not chowing down on Madame Bellini’s lasagne!” John felt his forced smile become a little more real at the mention of the elderly matron he leased his apartment from at a ridiculously low rate. She was a kindly old Italian immigrant who ran her late night pizzeria with an iron hand and checked up on John every couple of days to make sure he was eating enough, running roughshod over her husband’s laughing defense of John’s independence. Every time she decided he was too skinny (which was literally every time), she’d force take out containers of pasta, pizza and leftover bread sticks into his arms with a burst of rapid-fire clucking and cheek-pinching.

 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you glutton, I’m coming! Geez, Ross, don’t you think with anything other than your stomach?” John cuffed Ross on the side of the head to push him back into the ambulance, hauling himself up onto the seat and raising a hand as Ross opened his mouth with a mischievous look, eyes gleaming and full of amusement.

 

 

“Wait, don’t answer that, you perv. Did you have fun feeling up the inebriated sorority girl while I did all the work patching up that redneck gorilla? His arms were bigger than my thighs! What if he’d gone all King Kong on me for trying to tend his wounds? I could’ve been snapped like a toothpick!” Ross was shaking with laughter as he started up their ‘bus, pulling smoothly out onto the slick street and heading north towards Bellini’s Italian Cuisine. They ribbed each other on the way, John pushing his fingers into Ross’s soft stomach and Ross slapping his hands away with loud cries of “Assault!” The ambulance slid to a squealing stop at a red light and, as if on cue, their radio crackled to life, both men falling silent to listen to the call.

 

 

“Rescue 86, I repeat, Rescue 86, we have a reported gunshot wound to the abdomen at the corner of 39th and Main, we need you en route as the closest unit. Victim is a white male, mid-thirties, approximately 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighing 160 pounds.” The dispatcher sounded utterly unperturbed, voice lacking any sort of inflection that might indicate worry or panic-she was obviously a veteran of the job. Shootings were still pretty common in Gotham despite the Dent Act and subsequent lack of organized crime; small time drug dealers and pimps still littered the streets of Gotham like a persistent fungus, leaving innocent and not-so-innocent casualties behind in a trail of broken bodies. John grabbed their radio and pressed the button, exchanging determined glances with Ross as the older man flipped the lights and sped down the deserted street, bypassing red lights after ensuring their path remained clear.

 

 

“This is Rescue 86, we’re on our way. Has the scene been cleared by GPD?”

 

 

“That’s a negative, Rescue 86, nearby GPD units are assisting with a spreading fire in a residential area. Officers will be en route ASAP but from outside your jurisdiction. Proceed with caution and wait for contact with the GPD before assisting the civilian.” John cursed and looked at Ross, his white-knuckled fist clenching around the black plastic. The other paramedic rolled his eyes and snatched the radio from his grasp, grunting a terse “Copy that, dispatch,” before tossing it onto the dashboard and staring at John, eyebrow raised.

 

 

“Ross, that’s a gunshot victim, we can’t wait! What if he bleeds out while we wait for the GPD to drag their slow asses out here? We have to help him!” John widened his eyes beseechingly at his partner as they came to a stop a block from where the shooting occurred. Ross frowned at him and searched his face, apparently seeing something that made him sigh and shake his head with disapproval.

 

 

“John, you know protocol. We’re supposed to let the police clear the scene before we go in and tend to the patient.” John bit his lip and glanced out the windshield, squinting his eyes to see if that shadow on the ground was the man whose life was slipping away while they hesitated. Ross sighed again and pressed his foot against the pedal, smirking ruefully as John shot him a startled glance.

 

 

“Your damn hot-head is going to get us in trouble one day, dude. But you’re right; we can’t wait for the bumbling GPD assholes to get here when there’s a gunshot wound to the abdomen...that’s a bad fucking area to get shot, no lie. But you gotta stop with the puppy dog eyes, man, it makes me feel like a Grandpa when I remember how young you are. Especially with those goddamned dimples, baby face.”

 

 

John smiled gratefully at his partner, said dimples making an appearance, and bit back his quip about Ross’s age, face turning focused and intent as they came close enough to see a figure laying prone on the sidewalk, a small stream of bright red leaking out from beneath his body and dripping onto the wet asphalt of the road. Ross brought the ambulance to an abrupt halt mere feet from the patient and they burst into action, the senior partner grabbing their trauma kit and defibrillator while John ran over and assessed the victim’s vital signs, calling out his findings to his partner as he hurried over, hands full. John put pressure on the open wound and glanced at the man’s ashen face, startled to see intense blue eyes fixed unerringly on his face. He smiled reassuringly and placed his other palm on the man’s sweaty forehead for a moment, stroking his skin briefly even as he pressed more firmly on the entry wound and the victim’s face twitched with pain.

 

 

“It’s going to be alright, sir, I just need you to breathe for me, okay? Everything’s going to be alright.” Ross fell to his knees on the other side of the wounded fellow and they went to work, hands moving rapidly and with the razor sharp competency that comes from true dedication and years of training. There was no way John was going to let this man die. Ross finished cutting their patient’s shirt open and peeled the fabric away from the injury, fresh blood welling up from the small entrance wound and spilling over pale skin. He briskly opened a sealed package of sterile gauze and began packing the wound as John administered an IV and monitored the victim’s vital signs, relieved to see them remain strong and steady. There had been a fair amount of blood loss when they’d transferred the injured man to the fold-out gurney but it looked like the blood pouring from the wound was already slowing down and clotting naturally.

 

 

“His breathing is elevated and his blood pressure has dropped slightly, but he’s doing incredibly well for someone with a gunshot wound.” John pressed his gloved fingers to his patient’s neck and counted his pulse as he stared at his wristwatch, pulling away a few moments later with a small quirk of his lips. The pulse fluttering against the pads of his fingers was too rapid to be healthy but that was to be expected in this sort of physical crisis. He glanced down at the man’s face and smiled to see blue eyes alert and focused on him, lips seeming to form words beneath the opaque plastic of the oxygen mask. A frown creased the young paramedic’s face and he leaned in, putting his palm over the victim’s forehead once more to sooth him, not liking the obvious strain tugging at the corners of those pale eyes.

 

 

“Please, Sir, just try to relax. Don’t talk. We need you to remain calm so we can get you kitted up and on the way to the hospital, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.” John fitted the last velcro strap for the gurney into place and let Ross know they could move their patient into the ambulance whenever he was ready.

 

 

“Good job, J. I just need to tape the rest of this gauze in place and we can be on our way. This fella was very lucky; whoever shot him used a small gun, probably a .22, and had really bad aim if they were going for serious injury.” John moved closer to get a look at Ross’s work and his eyes widened in surprise, eyebrows inching their way toward his hairline as he forgot to maintain the stoic expression he usually adopted while at work. This man was lucky indeed, for the bullet had entered into his abdomen on the left frontal area and exited at a diagonal angle from the same side, likely glancing off a rib and ricocheting. The bullet’s pathway was incredibly fortuitous for the poor man; it would likely allow him to avoid weeks upon weeks of agonizing surgeries and recovery time and there was little risk of death by exsanguination or sepsis from a ruptured organ. _Actually_ , John mused, pumping the IV bag carefully to increase the flow of saline into the drip chamber, _the odds of a bullet wound to the abdomen causing such little damage is almost miraculous...one could even wonder if it was intentionally non-fatal._

 

“Did you see any signs of ruptured organs or broken bones? It seems odd that a gun did such superficial damage...maybe whoever shot this guy didn’t want to permanently injure him?” John held one end of the gauze against their patient’s skin so his partner could secure it into place with a generous application of medical tape, relieved when no fresh staining appeared on the white cloth. Another fleeting glance at their charge showed a calm, stoic expression on his face as he breathed into the oxygen mask, eyes closed in what was hopefully a painless sojourn from consciousness. Ross shook his head distractedly in answer, moving to disinfect the exit wound and patch it up well enough to transport their charge to the hospital for more thorough medical attention.

 

 

“Not that I noticed, but I didn’t want to palpate too much in case his ribs took the hit. With how fragile ribs are, I could accidentally snap one if I pressed too hard. Better to let them do a more comprehensive check in the ER.” John nodded in understanding, packing up their unused equipment and taking it over to the open doors of the ambulance to stash everything in its proper place. While this wasn't the young paramedic’s first shooting victim, this _was_ his first abdominal gunshot wound and he was determined to learn all he could from his senior partner. Two months on the road together had taught him that Ross was incredibly adept at his job and had a lot of knowledge to impart on anyone who cared to listen. He was a worthy role model for John to emulate as well as someone he could trust both on and off of the job. Ross gave him everything he’d been starving for when he’d joined the police academy-a mentor, a friend, someone with whom he shared a sense of brotherhood far beyond the flimsy bonds of flesh and blood.

 

 

The young brunet tucked his knees under him as he levered himself into the back of their ‘bus and stretched forward, wedging the first aid kit beneath the bench with a screech of protesting metal. A grimace crossing his face at the ear splitting sound and he tossed his head like an anxious horse, wriggling his way back out of the ambulance gracelessly and letting his feet hit the ground with a thud. The dull sound of his battered soles striking the damp asphalt echoed through the silent street and John suddenly realized that all the ambient noise in the area had faded away, leaving only the faint muttering and rustling movements of Ross, busily working on their patient. That niggling sense of _wrongness_ that had been lingering in the back of his mind since they’d arrived at the scene suddenly burst to the forefront and every muscle in his body froze, tightened, quivered with an influx of adrenaline. He stood silhouetted against the fluorescent light emanating from the interior of the ambulance, the night suddenly seeming much darker, thicker, hazy and smothering. The buzzing orange glow from the solitary street lamp flickered on and off erratically, adding an eeriness to the whole scene as the shadows appeared to grow and dance.

 

 

The hairs rose on the back of John’s neck and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, his back prickling like someone was staring at him. He casually turned to the side, sliding his eyes over their patient’s immobile form and Ross’s busy hands before focusing on the dark pockets of shadow tucked into the various alleyways surrounding their position. His time at the police academy had been wrought with stress and negativity but he’d learned to trust his instincts, even more so than he had as a small orphan boy during the days of organized crime in Gotham, and right now his instincts were screaming for them to get out of there. John wanted to blame his increasing nervousness on his, at times, over-active imagination, but some strange sense of danger was making the air crackle. His blood sizzled in his veins, adrenaline infusing the cells with hyperactivity as they rushed through his body. His muscles shook slightly as his heartbeat ramped up but he felt rooted to the spot, held there by that unseen gaze boring through him.

 

 

Everything around him, the atmosphere, the utter vacancy of the streets, the distinct lack of noise, was setting off alarm bells in his head and he felt a growing urgency to flee the area before this rising tension snapped like a trip wire, but still he remained captive to a force greater than his will. Like a fish on a hook he was being reeled in, one shoe scraping over the rough pavement, then the other as he unintentionally left the circle of light exuding from the ambulance. Even as his body moved of its own accord his mind was whirring busily, that budding detective’s instinct welling up from inside and struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Their patient now seemed more like bait than someone genuinely in need of urgent care, or perhaps the shooting was incidental to the springing of the trap, a way to lure prey to the area at steep cost to the innocent, hapless man laying on their stretcher. The question was, who was the intended prey? The GPD officers who should have arrived at the scene by now? Someone else, maybe some friends of their patient? Either way, they had to leave. Now.

 

 

“John! What are you doing? Let’s go, man!” John jumped, startled, heart pounding in his throat, and turned his head towards Ross, realizing with no small amount of shock that he’d drifted over to the mouth of a particularly dark alley and was now several yards away from his partner and their charge. He glanced back at the alley and shivered, the darkness of the narrow corridor seeming to reach out for him, beckoning him to venture just...a little...further.

 

 

He backed away slowly, eyes wary and frightened but unwilling to turn his back on those particular shadows. It felt like a spell had been broken and the young man scrubbed a hand through his hair roughly, nerves jumping and breath escaping him in quick gasps as adrenaline drained from his body in a surge that left his muscles feeling rubbery and weak. He finally spun away from the looming mouth of the alleyway, shaking his head in a mix of incredulous fear and relief as he jogged swiftly across the road, his black sneakers squeaking against the wet asphalt. John came to a stop next to the ambulance and pressed his fingers into his eyes, rubbing harshly, black spots darting across his vision as he took hold of one side of the stretcher. His hand brushed against a dangling strap of velcro and he blinked his eyes open, looking down and stiffening in shock, mouth gaping open and a surprised cry ripping from his throat. The stretcher was empty, straps thrown helter-skelter and blood-soaked gauze draped over the surface with a madman’s whimsy.

 

 

“Ross, what the actual _fuck_ is-” John stopped short, his words freezing in his throat. Ross wasn’t standing on the other side of the gurney. No, Ross was being restrained by their patient, one strong arm securing John’s partner in a chokehold and the other stretched out towards John, shining pistol aimed unerringly at the younger paramedic’s chest. Ross’s dark eyes were huge in his bloodless face, hands gripping at the arm choking him and lips parted, gasping for air. John swallowed hard and raised his hands slowly, unable to stop himself from taking an automatic step back, and his eyes went impossibly wide as he made contact with an immense body standing directly behind him, a rasping breath ghosting over his disheveled hair.

 

“John Blake. I have been waiting for you.” The voice wormed its way into his head, strangely familiar, and John didn't even have a chance to turn his head before there was a crack, a flash of fiery pain, and then nothing at all.


End file.
